Everything In Its Right Place
by Joatille
Summary: The best ideas start as conversations. Draco Malfoy seeks out the friendship of Hermione Granger. Short and simple Dramione / EWE.
1. Chapter 1

"Oi, he's looking at you. Again…" said Ginny to Hermione, winking at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and continued adding flobberworm mucus to her Wiggenweld Potion. Ginny enjoyed pointing out the stares of Draco Malfoy, and as usual, Hermione gave her no reply.

She hadn't noticed his stares until Ginny mentioned them in almost every class. It happened quite often, many times a day, over many weeks. Though he was noticeably different after the war, Hermione assumed that he was still offended by her blood status, and his stares were a silent expression of his disdain. Hermione had never courted his good opinion, and did not care to begin.

The potions classroom was humid, and Hermione pushed up her sleeves as she continued her work. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco stiffen. She raised her eyes and found him staring, wide-eyed and motionless. He was not looking at her face or even her cauldron, but at her arm. Her arm, emblazoned with a scar. _Mudblood_.

She caught his eye and tried to read his expression. He looked…uncomfortable, to be sure. But what else? Sad? Disgusted? The moment stretched about between them, until he looked down hastily. Hermione watched his blond head, saw his pale hands resume their work.

"What was that about?" asked Ginny in a low voice. Hermione felt her face flushing, and began stirring her potion.

"No idea," she said, earnestly.

* * *

There were times he had forgotten why he'd agreed to return to Hogwarts. He'd completed most of his seventh year, though with abysmal marks. He hadn't sat his NEWTs – no one had, owing to the fact that a large portion of Hogwarts was blown up during the war. And he certainly didn't care about NEWTs any longer, or Quidditch, or house points or anything else for that matter. But truth be told, he came back to Hogwarts simply because he had nowhere else to go.

When he received the owl from McGonagall, Draco initially thought to decline, but what would he do with himself?

Their lives had been upended. Sure, the social engagements were still there. There were parties and balls, though their set was much smaller than before. Azkaban had become the home of some, and some had been killed during the battle. But everyone wore their finest robes, the great houses were still lavish, and elf wine and firewhisky flowed abundantly.

Conversation had been stilted. No longer were there toasts to the Dark Lord, or philosophical tirades about blood supremacy. Everything was superficial. Draco couldn't bear one more conversation about the latest fashion at Twilfitt and Tattings, or summer holiday excursions, or those marvelous little pastries Dorea Shafiq was serving. Occasionally people talked of France, of Bulgaria, where the pure-blood aristocracy was still in command. Many of them, including his parents, spoke wistfully of immigrating. He could not believe that they could still hold on to the same beliefs that had ruined their lives. He decided to return to Hogwarts, simply to escape.

Hogwarts felt alien to him now. He was no longer revered by his Slytherin underclassmen, and was ignored by the rest of the student body. But he noticed them. All of them, scurrying about, consumed in their academics, their friendships, their trivial love lives. How the business of academia went on after the events of the past year were a mystery to him.

And there was no greater mystery than Hermione Granger. War hero, do-gooder, thrust into fame as one of the Golden Trio. She had been much talked of in the Daily Prophet, and it was common knowledge that she had a Ministry position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures waiting for her graduation.

Yet here she was, still an insufferable know it all, raising her hand at every opportunity, completely engrossed in her school work. How could she be, after all that had happened? How could she revert to schoolgirl Granger? Draco watched her often, certain that it was a façade. He had hoped that he would see the truth eventually, that she was as scarred as he was.

In Potions class, he saw how scarred she was. She pushed up her sleeves, and there was that lingering memento, courtesy of his Aunt Bellatrix. _Mudblood_. The scar was pink on her fair skin. It sickened him to see it. Sickened him to remember her screams. Sickened him to remember how he had stood there, and done nothing. He wanted to tell her that he had been wrong, that he should have intervened, that her blood status didn't make her deserving of that.

She looked at him just then, really looked at him for the first time all year. Her eyes were not unkind, merely curious, and for a brief moment, it felt good to be looked at, to be noticed. She knew he saw her scar, and wondered if she was thinking about his. His Dark Mark. Ashamed, he looked away.


	2. Chapter 2

_5 Years Later_

"Ah, Hogsmeade," said Ron fondly. It was December 23rd, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione were headed to Professor McGonagall's annual Christmas party. It was cold and snowing, and the village, as always, looked like a picture postcard.

They entered the Three Broomsticks, which was filled to capacity. Hagrid gave them a booming hello, clapping Harry and Ron on the shoulder so hard that they nearly fell over. After greeting their former professors, Harry ordered three Butterbeers and the trio managed to secure a table.

"Happy Christmas," toasted Hermione, raising her glass. Ron and Harry did likewise.

"Butterbeer just tastes better here." said Ron, drinking deeply.

"True, true," said Harry, "but I still feel like a bit of a kid here. Maybe it's being surrounded by all of our professors."

"Bloody hell," said Ron. His eyes were narrowed and his nostrils flared as though he had smelled something unpleasant. "That git Malfoy is here."

"Oh, yes," said Hermione. "He's teaching at Hogwarts."

Harry laughed and Ron spluttered. "What's he teaching, Advanced Prat?" said Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Alchemy. Professor McGonagall told me."

"Blimey," said Ron, "what a nightmare. "

"Doesn't look too happy though, hmm?" said Harry.

Hermione turned around to see Draco at a small table, alone. He was drinking from a tumbler, and several empty glasses littered his table. Hermione shook her head.

"Professor McGonagall told me she was concerned about him. He apparently speaks to no one, outside of his students. And he seems to have developed a rather nasty drinking habit," said Hermione.

"Who cares?" said Ron, "Malfoy was always a prat. A twitchy little ferret, right Hermione?"

"Quiet, Ron! He'll hear you," said Hermione sternly.

"He deserves it. He was a foul git, he is a foul git, he'll always be a foul git," Ron spat.

Harry shook his head. "I was never a fan of Malfoy, but…"

"Don't defend him," said Ron, interrupting in mock horror. "Anyway, it's Christmas. Enough about Malfoy. Let's talk about something interesting. Did'ya see the new Nimbus?"

As Harry and Ron launched into a broom discussion, Hermione heard breaking glass behind her. Turning around, she saw that Draco had slipped from his stool and had turned over his table. He was straightening himself, shoes crunching on the broken glass at his feet.

"Professor Malfoy is _druuunk,_ " said a witch Hermione didn't know, and the crowd around them had a hearty laugh. Draco's eyes flashed with anger and embarrassment, and Hermione felt embarrassed for him. He slowly stumbled across the bar, making his way out of the door. No one spoke to him or offered their assistance.

Hermione rose from her stool. "Where are you going?" said Ron.

"To check on Malfoy. He's really pissed, I want to make sure he isn't face down in the snow."

"Leave him!" Ron called out, laughing.

Hermione headed out into the frigid air, looking for Malfoy. He hadn't gone too far, and was trudging awkwardly through the snow towards the castle.

She started making her way towards him. "Malfoy?" she called out. "Malfoy – wait."

He turned around, swaying on unsteady feet as she approached him. "Are you going back to Hogwarts?" He didn't answer, so she continued. "Can I walk with you?"

"Why?" he said, softly.

"Why not?" she replied.

He looked at her, still swaying. "I don't understand you," he said, slurring. "Perfect Granger, always so perfect." He fell to his knees in front of her. "Let me see it, I want to see it," he said, fumbling for her arm.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" said Hermione, pulling away from him. "Get up, get up this instant! " He grabbed for her hand, eventually succeeding with a firm grip. "What are you doing?" she screamed.

He pushed her sleeve up, roughly. " _Lumos,"_ he said, lighting his wand and investigating her forearm.

He was looking at her scar. She stopped struggling, too confused to protest further.

"Why haven't you used magic to heal this? Why is it here? I hate it, I hate it!" he cried, his grip tightening.

"Get away from her, Malfoy!" shouted Harry. He and Ron had left the pub, and were headed towards Hermione and Draco, wands raised.

Draco released her hand, and spread his arms out wide. "Oh, Saint Potter!" he said, laughing. "Please, hex me! Obliviate me! Or _Sectumsempra_ , remember? Remember?" he screamed wildly.

Harry stopped, and lowered his wand. Malfoy was obviously deranged. But Ron continued his advance, wand pointed directly at Malfoy's chest.

Hermione fell to her knees, wrapped her arms around Draco's torso, and Disapparated.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived on Hermione's doorstep. She opened the door and dragged him inside, slamming the door behind her.

Draco looked sick. Side-Along Apparition was nauseating in the best of circumstances, but combined with copious amounts of Firewhisky, and she was afraid he'd vomit on her carpet.

Outside, two distinct pops were followed by pounding on her door. Harry and Ron had followed her, as she supposed they might.

"Let me out of here, right now Granger," said Malfoy, his face ghost white. "I don't need your protection." The banging on the door continued and Malfoy was headed straight for it.

" _Petrificus Totalus_!" Hermione used a cushioning charm to keep him from a painful crash. "I'm sorry Malfoy, really, but you leave me no choice."

Hermione opened her door and went out on the stoop, closing the door behind her.

"What are you playing at?" said Ron.

"Hermione, why did you bring Malfoy to your _house_?" said Harry.

"Because he's drunk. Because I felt bad for him. I don't know!" said Hermione.

"He'll hex you in your sleep, Hermione!" said Ron.

"Not likely, Ronald! He'll sleep. He'll wake up, he'll leave. It's better than him freezing to death because he couldn't make his way back to the castle!" Hermione said.

"Hermione," said Harry, raking his hand through his hair. "It's very noble, but we can take him back to Hogwarts. You don't need to _keep_ him."

"It's fine Harry, really. Besides, he can't handle another Apparition. Really, it's fine."

"You can't trust him, Hermione!" said Ron angrily.

"I'll sleep with my wand in hand, alright? Now, don't the two of you have homes of your own to get back to?" Hermione said.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. "Alright, Hermione," said Harry, "just…send an owl in the morning? So we know you're okay?"

"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "Good night."

Harry and Ron Disapparated, Hermione went back inside. Leaving Draco petrified on the floor, she went to her bathroom and brought back a phial of Sleeping Draught. She levitated Draco to her couch, and set him down gently.

"I'm going to release you," she said softly, "and you're going to drink this Sleeping Draught. No arguments, no discussion, understand?"

He could not answer, so she released him. He took a deep breath, and snatched the phial from her hand. She thought he might throw it at her, but he uncorked it and quaffed it immediately. His eyes closed.

Hermione went into her kitchen to prepare a hangover potion.

* * *

Early the next morning, Hermione went to check on her house guest. He was still sleeping soundly. She went into her kitchen and began prepare breakfast.

The smell of frying meat apparently roused him, and she heard him groan from the living room. She poured hangover potion into a glass, and carried it to him.

"Good morning," she said. "Drink this." She offered the glass to him.

He eyed her suspiciously, then took the proffered drink. He drank it in one long swallow, handing her the empty glass. Its effects were immediate, and he rubbed his eyes. Hermione nodded, then headed back towards the kitchen.

"I've made breakfast, if you're interested," she called out.

She heard his footsteps approaching. He stood in the doorway, watching her plate the chipolatas. "Have a seat," she said, gesturing towards the table.

He sat, eyeing the sliced oranges, grapes, and toast she had laid out. She set down the platter of sausages, and sat across from him.

She was a little embarrassed about her appearance. Her hair was in an untidy bun on top of her head, and she was wearing a tank top and pajama pants. Though he'd slept in his robes, they looked unwrinkled. He must have Charmed them, she mused.

He had served his plate and was chewing, examining the room. She served herself and began to eat.

"Is this a muggle house?" he asked. She nodded.

"Why do you live in a muggle house?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's close to my parents, and…well, why not?"

They continued their breakfast in silence. When Draco had finished, he pushed his plate away from him. "Thanks," he said, without meeting her eyes.

"You're welcome." she said. "Malfoy, about last night…"

"No," he said, rising abruptly. "I'm not having some deep…we're not going to…oh bugger it!" he said, stalking away from the table. He went for her door, flung it open, and walked out.

Hermione heard him Disapparate, and went to close the door. She decided to send owls to Ron and Harry, assuring them she was perfectly safe, and that Malfoy was still a git.


	4. Chapter 4

Christmas had come and gone, and Hermione had spent the holiday with her parents. On Boxing Day, she had visited the Burrow, and spent time with Harry, Ginny, and her godson, James. Now it was Sunday afternoon, and Hermione looked forward to spending it in solitude, reading.

A knock at the door was unexpected and somewhat unwanted. She assumed it was her mother who occasionally liked to pop in, but when she opened the door and found the pale face of Draco Malfoy on the other side, she was at a loss.

"Granger," he said, by way of greeting.

"Malfoy," she said, mimicking his tone, "Do you…Would you like to come in?"

He came in, and stood still in the middle of her living room. He seemed to be surveying the place. Hermione wanted to question his appearance, but thought she'd let him speak first.

"I came to… _apologize_ …for my less than gracious behavior at MgGonagall's party and the morning after." His back was to her, and she was somewhat amused that he had bothered coming all this way when an owl would have sufficed. Or that he even bothered apologizing at all.

"No worries," she said. He did not acknowledge that he spoke, but continued surveying the wall.

"Why are there little holes in the wall?" He spun around, looking really quite peeved.

"They're electrical outlets. You plug electrical devices in them."

"I don't know what that means!" He seemed angry.

"Well," she said, thoughtfully, "Muggles don't get their light from candles, they get it through electricity. Look here." She went to the lamp on the table by her couch, and turned it on. "See? It's plugged into the wall."

"But where does it come from?" He seemed less angry and genuinely curious now.

"Look out of the window." She walked towards the dining area, and pulled back the curtain from the window. "See those lines, those wires, stretched out everywhere? The electricity runs through them, and is wired through the house. "

"And where does the electricity in those wires come from?"

She gave him a brief overview of fossil fuels and turbines. "What else, besides the lights?"

She turned on the television to show him. "All sorts of things. The refrigerator, that keeps food cold, keeps it fresh. Clocks. Washing machines – those clean your clothes. Dishwashers – those clean, well, your dishes, obviously."

"I thought Muggles did everything by hand," he said.

"No, not really. Muggles go to great lengths to make things easy."

He tilted his head slightly, and a small line appeared between his eyes. He was eyeing the television with apparent interest.

"This is television. You can get news and weather information there. It has 'shows' which are a bit like plays, I suppose. There are thousands of different shows. …would you like to watch? You can sit down, you know."

Draco walked to her couch and sat down. Hermione was inwardly quite amused at Draco Malfoy watching television like any Muggle, but thought it best not to comment. She sat at the opposite end of the couch, and they watched the news together.


	5. Chapter 5

Every Sunday afternoon, Draco Malfoy would appear at her house. She never implicitly invited him, he just showed up. He'd ask questions – mostly about some Muggle item that he had apparently noticed and was curious about. She found herself giving a history of space exploration, demonstrating a toaster, screening movies. She didn't ask him questions, and tried to be as even as possible. Though she found his coming and his queries quite amusing, she did not want to antagonize him. He apparently needed a friend, and had settled upon her.

She had told Harry, Ron, and Ginny about her frequent visitor. Ron declared he was barking, Ginny declared he was smitten, Harry was as puzzled as she was. But they all questioned why she allowed his visits to continue.

"He seems harmless enough," was her reply.

What she didn't tell them was that she had started growing quite fond of their visits, even found herself looking forward to them. Draco was quite intelligent, and she enjoyed their discussions. He never asked personal questions; they discussed concepts and ideas. They didn't always talk about Muggle contraptions; they had lengthy discourse about alchemy and potions, a subject they had both excelled in. He was not the conceited prig from their school days, but he was restrained. He never expressed any emotion aside from annoyance (usually when asking about Muggle business.) He never seemed happy to see her and she didn't know if he liked her at all, unless his visits were any sort of indication. But she liked him. She liked him more and more each week. It didn't hurt that he was so _handsome_ , but she didn't like to think about that. That was just too complicated. But she always made sure she was home on Sunday afternoons.

Sometimes they didn't talk at all. One particular afternoon, she offered to loan him _The Kite Runner,_ which she had recently finished. He had never read a Muggle book, and began reading it there on her couch. She set about knitting. This became common in their repertoire; he would occasionally bring a book and read, forgoing conversation. On those Sundays, she would go about her usual routine, or work on her case load.

This easy acquaintance went on for several months. Hermione didn't ask why he came, he didn't ask why she allowed him to come. But as time went on, she felt as though he was looking forward to their afternoons as much as she was. That thought made her pulse rush, but she kept it to herself.

In late summer, Draco was reading a copy of _Transfiguration Today_ while Hermione read over some work files. Apropos of nothing, he asked, "What happened with you and _Weasley_?"

" _Weasley_ and I are friends."

"Come now," he said, tossing his magazine aside. "It wasn't exactly a secret that you two were mooning over each other." He sounded somewhat disgusted.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "That is certainly none of your business."

After a moment, his expression softened, and he spoke again in a more congenial tone. "I assumed you two would end up together - I'm just surprised you didn't."

Hermione looked steadily at him, unsure of whether or not to answer. She decided he was genuinely curious and not malicious, and that she didn't begrudge his asking.

"Nothing happened, and that's the truth. All through school it seemed as if we were building up to…something," she felt a blush come over her cheeks. "And there was a moment that seemed like…like the beginning of something. But nothing came of it, and so…we're friends. That's all."

"A moment?" he asked archly.

She felt herself blushing more furiously. "A kiss, alright? It just happened, and that was it."

"Ugh," he said, picking up his magazine, "I'm sorry I asked." He was smirking though, so she let it pass.


	6. Chapter 6

Autumn was upon them, and with it, a new school year. Draco would occasionally bring students' work with him to grade. Hermione was interested in their coursework, and he allowed her to peruse the parchments.

"Do you like teaching?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he said. "These are NEWT students, I'm not sure if I would enjoy teaching first years." After a pause, he continued. "My seventh years were first years when we…when I was a seventh year."

"What a first year to have had," she said. He did not reply.

Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You started teaching the next school year after graduation, yes?" she asked. He nodded.

"Was is strange going back as a professor so soon?"

"Very," he said. "There were so many students who had been there when we were. Perhaps I should have waited a few years before taking the position."

"Was it always your intention to teach?"

A faint pink color went across his cheeks. "No. To be perfectly honest, I never actually considered any sort of profession, not seriously."

"What changed your mind?"

He looked away, and sighed. "The name of Malfoy used to mean something," he said. "Money, status, influence, and a long and pure bloodline." He laughed bitterly. "What does it mean now? _Traitor_ ," he said, his eyes dark. "Except to the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor and their society. Oh, they're embarrassed, mortified, to be sure, that their Dark Lord failed. But their minds are still convinced that their principles were correct. They've learned nothing."

"It takes time though, time to recover. Dumbledore said it was easier to forgive someone for being wrong that to forgive someone for being right."

The name Dumbledore seemed to pain him, and she immediately regretted saying it. She longed to reach out, to touch him, to comfort him, but she knew he would not allow it.

"They will never believe that they were wrong. Do you know," he said, his eyes widening, "that my parents and their friends have talked seriously of moving to France? Things are different there," he nodded. "Pure-blood is still 'worth something' there, according to my father."

"But not to you?"

He looked deep into her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. "No, Granger, not to me," he said, his voice gravelly. "Everything I was raised on, all of the dictums, they were all wrong."

"But your family…"

"Malfoy Manor is no longer my home. And I belong nowhere. I accepted the teaching position because I had nowhere else to go."

"A defeatist attitude serves no one, least of all you. You said the name Malfoy _used_ to mean something? You have choices. You can make your own name, choose for yourself."

"Who will forgive me, or even seek out my acquaintance? The other professors tolerate me at best, and aside from them, I have no interaction with anyone."

"You're sitting here with me, aren't you? Make more of an effort with them, Malfoy. "

"You're the only one I _want_ to talk to," he said, quietly, not meeting her eyes.

A warmth spread across her chest, but she didn't know what to say.


	7. Chapter 7

Autumn cooled into winter, and Hermione purchased a Christmas tree the first week of December. When Draco arrived, she asked if he would like to decorate it – Muggle style.

"Stand around all afternoon, hanging ornaments?" he said, incredulously. "That's house elf work."

"This is the problem! Outdated notions…Wizards too lazy to do anything without a wand, engaging a slave race to do anything they fancy themselves above…"

"Merlin's beard! Calm yourself. We'll hang the ornaments, no wands, no indentured servitude, alright?" He shook his head at her.

"Hmph," she grumbled. "Untangle these," she said, thrusting a snarl of fairy lights at him.

He went to work without complaining, and they strung lights and tinsel around the tree. She opened her box of ornaments, and smiled.

"This is the best bit. Just hang them wherever you like!"

He picked up an ornament, and eyed it with contempt. However, he said nothing, and they went about hanging the ornaments. When they were finished, she had him place a star atop the tree.

"Now we plug it in. Would you like to do it?"

"Absolutely not. And risk being electrocuted by Muggle madness? "

"Oh fine," she said, plugging in the cord, then moving back to stand beside him. "Isn't it lovely?"

They both admired their work. "Too much red and gold," he said. He waved his wand, and the ornaments changed to deep green and sparkling silver.

Hermione laughed. "A Slytherin tree. I'll allow it, but I have to make improvements of my own." She waved her wand, and changed his black jumper to deep ruby. She smiled at him.

He did not smile back. His eyes looked infinitely sad.

"My parents immigrated to France. They finally have society more in line with their beliefs," he said, disgustedly. "And my colleagues don't….and no one that I knew in school….you're my only friend, Granger."

Hermione felt her eyes welling with tears. She didn't know what to say to him, so she took his hand. He stiffened, but slowly relaxed.

So they stood, holding hands, in the glow of her Syltherin Christmas tree.

* * *

 **A/N** : I know this was a short chapter, but I hope you liked it!:)


	8. Chapter 8

The Sunday before Christmas, Draco arrived as usual. When Hermione opened the door, he stomped in without waiting for an invitation, clearly agitated.

"Are you going to McGonagall's Christmas…thing?" he asked. She could smell whisky on his breath.

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "Are you?"

"Oh yes," he spat. "It would be incredibly rude not to turn up at the Headmistress' party. And we musn't be rude…"

"You've been drinking. "

"As clever as always, Granger," he said with an arched brow. "It's Christmas holidays, all the wee children have gone home to their mummies, what else am I meant to do?"

"Malfoy…what's wrong?"

"What isn't? I hate that bloody school, I hate the students, I hate the corridors! Everywhere I turn, reminders of the past. I'm haunted, Granger. I can't escape. Not even when I'm alone." He ripped of his cloak, and tugged at his shirtsleeve. "Look – look….still here!" He pointed at the remains of his Dark Mark. It was faded, but still easily identifiable. "Oh sure, it's fading," he continued, "but it's still here. I've tried everything, everything I tell you, and nothing works! Here it is, always there, always with me." He clawed at his arm, as though he could scratch it off.

"And you," he demanded. "Still have your scar? I know that you do! I saw it, that first morning, when you cooked breakfast. How could you have taken me into your home, hmm? Handed me food with that monstrosity on your arm, it came from _my_ aunt, in _my_ house, _I_ didn't help you…." He covered his face with his hands.

"Because it doesn't bother me, Malfoy. I'm not afraid of the past, and I've never blamed you."

"If that's true, you're a fool." He had taken his hands from his face, and looked at her in disbelief.

"It is true, and I'm no fool," she said quietly.

In a step, he was in front of her. "I watched you, you know. In school. When we went back. There you were, carrying on. I saw your arm one day, in potions class." He leaned in to her, close enough that she could feel his body heat. She found herself trembling at his closeness. "It shamed me, shamed me in a way that I knew not possible. You aren't a fool, Hermione…I am."

Her eyes widened. "You've never called me by my name," she said.

"You've never called me by mine." He was looking down into her face, and she was caught in his cool grey eyes.

"Draco," she said in a whisper.

He put his hands on either side of her face, and kissed her. It tore through her body like fire.

His lips were full, soft. He tongue made a gentle exploration of her mouth, and his breath was smoky from whisky. It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. She felt like she was falling, she'd never been kissed like this and it was wonderful, oh, this what was kissing should be but she couldn't _breathe_ …

She pulled away from him, to catch her breath. For a brief moment, she saw his faced flushed, his eyes intense with passion, and then…nothing.

Without a word, he backed away from her, picked up his cloak, and left.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione had been too stunned to call out to him, to stop him from leaving. She stood in the spot where he'd left her, reeling.

Draco Malfoy had _kissed_ her. And it had awakened something in her, a realization. She sat on the couch and cradled herself.

She had feelings for him. All the time she'd spent with him over the past year, all their talks, even all of the times that they just sat, together, quietly…

But why had he left? She knew that he did not have the same pure-blood mania as in their school days. He was even estranged from his parents because of his refusal to adhere to their archaic notions, but could he really have overcome his prejudices enough to even entertain the thought of being with her? Surely, he couldn't. It was the whisky, she thought. He could never feel anything for her.

She began to cry.

* * *

Over the next few days, Hermione debated what to do. At times she was angry, at times she was heartbroken. She thought of sending an owl, asking him to explain what happened. She thought of sending an owl, describing to him in great detail all the ways in which he was an arse. She even toyed with the idea of enlisting Ginny's opinion, but then Harry and Ron would find out, and she was not in the mood to justify her feelings to them. Besides, it was unlikely anything would come from them anyway.

She knew she would see him at Professor McGonagall's Christmas party. Perhaps she would be able to discern his feelings then. She wondered if he would speak to her. She wondered if he would even look at her.

She decided to go to the party alone, and go early. In years past, the Hogwarts professors were the first to arrive, and she thought she might have a chance to speak with Draco alone. She typically attended with Harry and Ron, but told them she wanted to stop by her parents' house first and would meet them there later.

When she arrived, all of the Hogwarts professors were there, save Draco. She was crestfallen. After a friendly but short chat, she asked Hagrid if he'd seen Draco.

"Had a couple o' students stay over the holiday. He's volunteered to watch over 'em during the party here. Wasn' too keen ter come anyhow, if yeh ask me."

Hermione tried to mask her disappointment, and mingled with the other guests. But she couldn't bear the thought of making idle chat all night with this sick feeling in her stomach, so she quietly slipped out of the door.

Her initial thought was to go home and try to put Draco-sodding-Malfoy behind her. Surely his absence was a confirmation of her fears – that he had only kissed her because he'd been drunk. But Hogwarts was so close… "Daring and bravery," she said to herself, and made her way toward the castle.

Upon entering, she was lucky enough to run into Nearly Headless Nick, who directed her towards Draco's office. She navigated her way up the Grand Staircase and to the sixth-floor corridor. His office was located next to a tapestry of Merlin. She knocked, but there was no answer. She tried the handle, but it was locked. She knew it would be warded, and didn't bother trying to open it with magic. Assuming he was out on duties, she leaned against the door to wait for his return.


	10. Chapter 10

She didn't have to wait long. After a few minutes, she saw him coming down the corridor, his green robes swirling out behind him. He saw her too, and broke his stride momentarily. He resumed walking, at a much quicker pace.

"Did no one explain to you that it is customary to be invited before you just turn up?" he said, his eyes flashing with anger.

"You've been turning up at my flat for a year without invitation!"

He had reached the door, and stood before her. "Well? What exactly do you want, Granger?"

"What do you think?" she exclaimed, "I've come for an explanation!"

"An explanation for what exactly?" he drawled.

"For kissing me! For kissing me and then just walking out!"

He raised his eyebrows, taking a deep breath. "What do you want me to say, Granger? Ask Ogden's Old."

She wanted to strike him. She crossed her arms to refrain from doing so. "Rubbish! You don't kiss someone like that without…" She felt color flooding her face.

"Without what?" He looked amused. "Do tell Granger, I'm really quite interested."

"Oh, you are foul Draco Malfoy, you really are!" Her embarrassment had transitioned to anger, and she stomped off down the corridor. "And to think, I thought you had changed! I thought you felt something for me!"

"Granger….Hermione…wait!" _No such luck,_ she thought, and continued her egress. She heard his staccato footfalls behind her, running to catch up with her.

"Wait, damn it, wait!" He caught her hand and spun her around.

She pulled her hand away, but he caught it again. "Please, please. Did you say that you…" He looked imploringly at her.

Angry tears spilled down her cheeks. "Haven't you humiliated me enough? Let me go!"

"Hermione, did you want me to kiss you?"

"Yes!" she cried, tears now streaming down her face.

"But you pulled away from me!"

"To catch my breath, you idiot!" She pulled her hand away again, and wiped her tears away.

Draco chuckled. This time, she did strike him, hitting every part of him she could reach.

"You are loathsome, loathsome!"

"Stop this, stop!" He caught her hands and pulled her close to him. "Hermione, listen to me. Listen!" She stopped struggling, but her tears still flowed.

"I thought that you pulled away because you were repulsed. I thought you hated me still. And why shouldn't you?" He let go of her hand, and stroked her face.

"I don't hate you, Draco," she said, hiccoughing. "Not at all…"

"I couldn't believe you took me home, that night, last Christmas," he said. "And when I came back, you were kind to me," he shook his head. "For me to have somewhere to go, someone to go to…I didn't dare try and make plans with you. I was afraid you'd say no."

"I wanted you to keep coming," she said. "Didn't you wonder why I was _always_ at home, every Sunday for a year?"

He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. She felt his body shake, and knew that he was crying too. After a moment, he pulled back and smiled at her. A real, genuine smile.

"You are everything to me," he said. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "The more I know you, the more I love you." He kissed her again, properly this time, and she felt the familiar fire tear through her. This time, she didn't lose her breath, and held him close.

He broke their kiss, and smiled at her again. "Care to take a tour of my rooms? We can snog more, if you'd like," he said, with his trademark smirk. Hermione laughed. "Don't be cheeky."

He took her hand, and led her into his chambers. "You look beautiful, by the way," he said, eyeing her scarlet dress appreciatively. "But I think this would be better." He waved his wand, and changed her dress to a deep forest green. She looked down and grinned. "Fine," she said, "but I like you best this way." She waved her wand, and changed his emerald robes to ruby.

* * *

 **A/N** : We made it to the end. This was my first HP fic and I really hope that you liked it. Special thanks to patty cake rocks for all the reviews!


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